


He

by ByelingualBH (ByeBH)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, Hypothermia, M/M, Post-Episode: s10e23 My Brother's Keeper, Shades of Christmas, Tweaks to Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByeBH/pseuds/ByelingualBH
Summary: He couldn't say sorry. He couldn't say thanks.And he'd accidentally come out to an angel of the Lord.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, tfw - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 113
Collections: Destiel Instagram One Shot Contest - December 2020





	He

He’d wrangled Cas to bed, basically shoved a bunch of painkillers down his throat, and now the angel was conked out on his bed.

Dean, from where he stood at the foot of the bed, sighed. It was weird watching Cas sleep. It was weird to see Cas in any shade of unconscious but this was different. Cas was just sleeping off an ‘unusual drain’ on his grace. Dean had teased him, saying that’s when humans went off to dreamland. Cas had squinted at him and then started blabbering about the impossibility of dreaming for an angel.

Nerd.

Honestly, it’d turned out to be a weird case.

*****

“These deaths . . . they’re needlessly violent,” Cas mused from where he was leaning over Dean’s shoulder. Dean, of course, was having a hard time concentrating because Cas usually gave him his ‘personal space’. He tried to calm his heart, to breathe shallower, as he felt the lapel of Cas’s ugly ass coat brush his shoulder.

He did not have the balls to look up and see what Sam’s face was saying.

Then Cas reached over him to tug at the pictures from the crime scene report. Dean had a wild thought about using surprise to tug Cas against him.

_Do or do not. There is no try._

He let the pictures go.

“Wish I could say it’s monsters, but humans can get pretty fucked up too,” Sam was saying.

Dean felt Cas step back a bit, but he still felt Cas shrug behind him.

_You’re being weird_. He knew he was. But he felt like he could blame Cas for that. From the beginning of this case, Cas had been . . . touchier. There was no other word for it. _Human-er?_

Leaning over the back of the front seat to talk, basically body-checking him to grab the ketchup in the diner . . . 

“So . . . how’s your grace doing? Now that you’re, you know, Full Metal Angel again?” he’d asked carefully after Cas had stolen his fries. He’d let him, because, well. It was Cas.

“Yes, I’m fine, Dean,” Cas had smiled. “I’ve just come to enjoy creature comforts since my recovery.”

Right.

Dean had turned away to stare at the cheap holiday decorations on the window, teeming with guilt.

Since the recovery for everything bad that had happened to the angel because of Dean’s stupid fucking choices. Rowena’s attack dog spell had taken a while to undo, but with Rowena in the wind.

. . . plus, Cas still flinched every time Dean came close. Dean knew he deserved that and more. A couple of punches to the face didn’t make up for what Dean had done to him.

“Dean?” he jolted at the hand on his shoulder. Cas. The police report. Motel.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “’m listenin’.”

“Clearly,” Sam huffed from across the borderline-dilapidated motel table.

_Shut up, bitch_.

The easy quip died in his throat. He shoved to his feet, excusing himself to the bathroom.

He found himself gripping the cold, stained porcelain of the sink and staring at the stream of water.

He wondered how long it took to drown in a bathtub.

_Don’t be a selfish jerk. You’ve been doing enough of that lately_. Dean gripped the sink harder, bending over so he could no longer see the mirror. Not that he’d been able to use a mirror in a while.

_Stop the fucking pity party. If you’re going to be useless, might as well put a bullet in your brain right now._ Sam and Cas had _suffered_ saving him. This was how he was repaying them. Couldn’t help with the investigation. Couldn’t say sorry. Couldn’t say thank you. Couldn’t even crack a joke. All he _could_ do was drive them around. Like that was worth anything.

Not for the first time since getting rid of the Mark, he wondered what consequences were coming their way. Death had warned them of something called ‘the Darkness’.

And then Sam had burst into the abandoned joint, hand held out, screaming out an incantation.

_“_ Pass the Mark, Dean! _”_ Dean had been frozen, watching a thoroughly annoyed Death try to poke his cane into a barrier enveloping him.

“Dean, hurry!”

He’d done it. He’d passed the Mark onto Death. Part of him felt bad, because he’d promised Death no tricks. And here he was.

“You do realize what the Mark’s corruption of one of the most powerful beings in the cosmos could lead to?” Death had drawled, looking for all the world like he’d acquired a mosquito bite. But Dean had been too distracted, curled up on the floor against the pain lighting up his whole body. He hadn’t realized until it was too late. Until he came to to Sam mumbling another incantation. Enochian, this time. Hand raised towards Death. And Death was . . . crumbling. Death was turning into dust.

“Sammy, wait,” he’d called out, but it was too fucking late. Death crumbled to dust and then dissipated.

Sam had heaved him off the floor, shouting at him about his stupidity as he dragged him outside to Baby. And Dean had tried to tell him to stop, that the Mark needed a bearer or . . . then he’d seen the bolt of lightning arcing towards him from the sky and things had gone black.

“Dean, are you okay?” there was a knock on the bathroom door and Dean shook himself out of his own head. He needed to stop spacing out.

“Yeah,” he called back. “Be out in a sec.”

He splashed frigid water onto his face, gasping against the sensation. Then he went out to face the world again.

“Cas found this weird black puddle in the pictures,” Sam greeted him. “It’s not blood. Might be ectoplasm.”

“Run-of-the-mill ghost?” Dean raised an eyebrow. Cas caught his eye and smiled, but Dean couldn’t deal with that so he looked away.

“Yup, not necessarily straightforward, but we got Cas,” Sam had a smile in his voice.

_They don’t need you. Or they do, but they ain’t expecting much from you anyway._

“Nice,” Dean muttered. “Want me to pull up the list of recent deaths?”

Sam froze, peering at him carefully, “Uh . . . you wanna do that?”

“Yeah, sure,” he smothered a wince at the crack in his voice. “You two did good. Get some hours; I’ll look for the body.”

_I probably won’t find it, but I can do the grunt work_.

“Wait, Dean, you just pulled a seven-hour drive, man,” Sam huffed. “We should both get some rest. Then we can go over the records tomorrow over breakfast.”

“I can pull up some goddamn records, Sam!” he snapped.

Sam raised his hands in surrender, “Whoa, I’m not saying that. I’m saying you need some sleep.”

“Well, I’m saying I don’t!” he wasn’t even mad at Sam. He was just doing his thing, being an asshole. Sam didn’t respond, eyebrows at his hairline. Then he huffed and brushed past Dean to get to the bathroom. The door shut with a slam.

It was quiet. Then, “Dean.”

“Don’t start, Cas,” he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting it linger because all he wanted to do was hide away. Curl up in under the blanket and wait till everyone left his useless ass behind. He heard the soft rustle of Cas’s coat as he approached him and preemptively turned away, “You should rest up too. Motel ain’t gonna have Netflix, but there’s probably a Christmas movie on or something.”

“I could stay and keep you company,” Cas offered. “I don’t need sleep anymore.”

_Don’t deserve you_.

“See you in the morning, Cas,” he steamrolled past.

He moved to the desk, flipping the lights to dim the room. He didn’t acknowledge the angel as he took a seat in the rickety chair and powered up his laptop. He was painfully aware of the change in the air as Cas moved to the door.

He left without saying goodnight.

Dean let out a loud breath and leaned over, putting his face in his hands and curling over. He concentrated on breathing till he heard the click of the bathroom door unlocking.

“Night, Sam,” he muttered in the heavy silence. He got no response.

*****

All in all, they hadn’t had to work much to solve the case.

“Look, detectives, I know why you’re here,” Flanagan cut to the chase.

Still, Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at Sam on the couch beside him. “You do?”

“The bodies? I’m sure you’ve connected the dots,” the man was staring at the glass-top coffee table listlessly.

“Look, Mr. Flanagan,” Sam started.

“Jim.”

“Jim. We’re not accusing you of anything here,” Sam went on in that understanding tone of his when dealing with grieving normal. Dean watched the slight tremor of Jim’s fingers before he clenched his fist.

“Unless you did it,” Dean broke in. He saw Sam turn a shocked expression onto him. Dean ignored him, leaning forward to peer at Jim, who still hadn’t looked up. “Did you do it, _Jim_? Did you kill all those people? Went a little nuts after your wife’s suicide, so you took it out on her friends?”

“Agent!” Sam called sharply.

“Why’d she kill herself, Jim? Did you drive her to it?”

“Agent.”

“Covering your tracks, now? Worried she might’ve blabbedꟷ” he felt a hard pinch at the back of his arm and he tore his gaze away. He stared at the framed photos adorning the wall to his side. A seemingly happy couple.

_Covers and books, man._

“I apologize, Mr. Flanagan,” Sam was hurrying to fix Dean’s fuck-up. As usual. “My partner hereꟷ”

“Is right.”

Dean froze. He looked back at the widower, who was finally meeting his eyes.

“Uh, Annie was depressed,” he continued. “She had been, for a while. We were fighting a lot; I was having problems at work, she was having a bad week. I told her I couldn’t deal with her shit anymore. Stormed out. Came back and she was . . .”

_Bleeding out from both wrists._

Dean swallowed. “You know anything about the deaths?”

The man hesitated. Then he took a deep breath and nodded, “I did it.”

And . . . this was out of their hands. Just a widower gone mad with grief, dropping bodies left and right. Except the Winchesters couldn’t arrest him. Not really.

“I’ll cooperate,” he was saying. “Uh, can I just grab Annie’s wedding ring? It’s right there on the mantle.”

Dean glanced at Sam, who looked equally freaked. Then shit got really weird.

“No!” the brothers spun at the enraged scream. And there, near said mantle, stood Annie. The dead person. Still very dead and ghostly. “He didn’t do it!”

“Annie!” Jim gasped. “Detectives, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Dean couldn’t deal with this shit anymore. He sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Fuck this. We’re not really FBI, guys. We’re hunters. And we know you’re a ghost, Annie. I’m guessing you ganked all your buddies?”

Everyone froze. Sam was staring at him in incredulity but Dean shrugged.

“I came back from work two weeks ago and she was here,” Jim mumbled.

“It wasn’t him; it was me! He’s protecting me,” Annie agreed, eyes wide and bright for a dead chick. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just got so mad . . . I didn’t want to hurt Jim so I’d go away. Except that didn’t help either so . . .”

“So you redirected, huh?” Sam finished, voice soft and understanding and all that. As though the monster was the victim here.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re getting’ dead tonight,” Dean declared, moving to the mantle. It was evident what was tying her to this place. They’d destroy the ring . . . not like there was a body to burn; she’d been cremated a month ago.

And that was when Jim decided to participate. Dean heard Sam call out a warning, but then Annie disappeared with a flicker and there was an arm around his neck, immediately cutting off his air. He tried to get some leverage, to drive an elbow into Jim’s gut, but Jim had his body angled away and out of reach. Dean tried to swing his foot backwards, but the son of a bitch was too competent for a high school teacher. He had his legs spread and out of reach. Dean tried to gasp against the burn in his throat.

Sam was having his own problems with Annie the neurotic ghost.

Black spots danced in his vision and he felt his movements grow sluggish.

And then the vice around his throat loosened and Dean swallowed a lungful of air, choking and spluttering. He fell to his knees as Jim collapsed behind him. Rubbing his tender throat, Dean glanced back and saw the sensible slacks and the ugly, tan trench-coat.

“Cas,” he whispered hoarsely. But Cas ignored him.

_Still pissed. ‘course he is_.

He was moving to help Sam. Dean struggled to his feet, barely sparing a look at Jim’s prone form. Cas had knocked the guy out cold. Dean didn’t envy what he was gonna wake up to.

He scanned around the room until he found the ornate candlesticks sitting on a hanging shelf. He sprinted to grab the taller one.

_Fuck yeah, iron. God bless quirky rich people._

He didn’t get to rejoice for long, because there was a loud crash and Sam was crying out. Dean spun around.

“Cas!” the angel had gone through the wall of photos, and was slowly struggling to find his feet in the debris and shattered glass. Sam wasn’t doing that good either. He was barely dodging Annie’s frenzied movements.

“Duck!” Dean shouted. Sam did, allowing him to stab the candlestick into Annie. She disappeared with a shriek. Sam nodded in brief gratitude and then he sprinted to where Cas was.

“Cas, there’s a ring in here somewhere. She’s tied to it!” Sam was snapping, falling to his knees and digging through the debris.

_They make a good team, with or without you_.

Fuck, shut up. Not now.

Dean sprinted to the open kitchen right beyond the doorway to the living room and wrecked it, finally finding a half-filled canister of salt. It would have to do. He ran out just as Annie materialized before Cas and Sam. Dean flicked the candlestick like a knife and it passed through her, landing at the main door.

“Got it!” Cas called, tossing the tiny silver ring to Dean. He fumbled to catch it. “Accelerant.”

_Dammit! You forgot the accelerant, you useless shit._

“On it!” Sam called. And then Cas was in front of him, holding what looked like an expensive wooden bowl. Dean dropped the ring into it, upending the salt into it. Cas was close enough that Dean could see little flecks of blood on his shirt coming from the edges of tiny rips.

“You’re bleeding,” Dean muttered.

“I’m fine, Dean!” Cas grit out, and then he reached out and slipped a hand into Dean’s front pocket.

Dean froze at the long fingers against his hipbone, and then Cas was pulling away, all too soon. The angel flicked open the lighter just as Sam came sprinting back. If he had a comment about how close Dean and Cas were standing, he didn’t reveal it. Instead he reached out and poured a torrent of cooking oil into the bowl. Cas dropped in the whole lighter.

Dean had to back away at the _whomp_ as flames caught and rose between them.

They heard a distant scream of pain and then it was silent.

Dean looked at Cas. Cas looked at Dean.

In the back, Jim Flanagan groaned as he came to.

*****

They’d found an old cabin, deciding that a motel was a bad idea this close to the town. Cas had knocked out Flanagan and they’d hightailed it out of town. Then Dean had glanced at the rearview mirror and noticed Cas listing to starboard.

“Cas?” he’d called, worried, terrified, scared, ashamed.

When Cas hadn’t responded, Sam had turned to him, lunging over the back of the seat to grab at the angel. “Eyes on the road, Dean.”

Dean had flicked the lever to speed up the wipers in response. The snow was relentless.

“I’m just tired,” came a woozy reply.

“We need a pitstop,” Dean had muttered.

“Well, we can’t stay at a motel! There’s no way Flanagan didn’t call the cops!” Sam had shouted loudly in the silence of the car.

“Just,” Dean drew in a deep breath as he saw Cas slump back, revealing his neck. “Just keep your eyes peeled for somethin’.”

So they’d found an old cabin, with four empty, furnished rooms. It was a rich-person cabin, and not the first time that day, Dean found himself blessing rich folks and their exuberant tastes.

“Pantry’s stocked!” Sam had ascertained very early. “We got heat, water _and_ electricity.”

“Great,” Dean had grunted as he shouldered Cas to one of the rooms.

And then he’d forced Cas to swallow down the pills he’d found in a fully-stocked med cabinet. Cas had conked out after fifteen minutes, and Dean had stood at the foot of his bed, staring at his friend like a creep.

He’d already forced Cas out of his jackets and pants and shoes, before Cas had started swatting at him in annoyance. So, he’d let the angel go. Cas had flopped back and refused to move. For someone who’d been a testy bitch about taking a nap in the first place, Cas sure committed. Smiling fondly, Dean reached over and tugged off Cas’s socks.

_You’re being a complete perv right now_.

Sighing in annoyance, he dropped Cas’s bare feet on the mattress. Cas had nice feet. They were clean and unblemished and didn’t stink because, duh, _angel_.

_See? Perv_.

Dean gave up. He tugged out the blanket from under Cas and decided to indulge. He tucked the angel in. Sure, he was being a perv. He was interacting with the angel like he never would’ve had Cas been awake. His stupid man-crush was going out of control. He briefly imagined actually telling Cas someday.

_Yeah, sure. Go ahead and destroy the only real friendship you’ve had. You think he’s gonna say it back? That he ain’t gonna run away in the other direction, disgusted?_

Cas wouldn’t do that.

_Okay, maybe not that. But you’re really gonna ask him for more? After everything he’s given for you?_

No. No he wasn’t.

He couldn’t do that to Cas. Especially after what he’d done. He walked out the door, shutting it behind himself softly.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him warily. “Cas okay?”

“He’s sleeping it off,” Dean nodded. They stood in silence.

_Can’t apologize, can’t thank him . . . good going, Dean. You just play chauffer, big brother._

“Okay, uh, I’m gonna head to bed too. Don’t stay up too late,” Sam flashed him a tight smile and got up from behind the kitchen counter. He gently nudged Dean’s shoulder as he walked past him.

“Night,” Dean whispered. He stood in the silence. He was too keyed up to try and go to sleep. He wandered around the kitchen, perusing the content in the cupboards. It was packed with some good shit, but Dean couldn’t for the life of him find his appetite. He wandered around, running his fingers along maroon wallpaper above wood paneling. He walked along a dimly lit corridor, passing Cas’s door. There was a fifth door at the end of the hall. He jimmied the lock and pulled it open.

Ugh, gaudy Christmassy shit. Dean chuckled. His eyes caught on the little figure of a curled-up angel on a shelf on the side. He remembered what Mom used to tell him, every night, without fail. She was right. He didn’t deserve it, but Cas was watching over him. And his brother.

He moved to close the door and then he paused. He stared at the decorations.

_Stupid idea. They’d be much happier if you actually said sorry. You know, with words?_

Yeah, well, he couldn’t. Making up his mind, he heaved out as many decorations as he could and embarked on his task.

*****

The living room looked like something out of a cheesy Lifetime movie. The half-shed fake tree he’d found in the cupboard was faded and sparsely decorated. He had no idea how to decorate for Christmas.

_What are you doing?_

Good question.

Lights. He needed lights. He made his way back to the closet. There was a whole-ass laundry basket of lights. Chuckling again at the overindulgence, he hefted the whole thing and lugged it back to the living room. It didn’t take long to put some on the tree. He plugged it in.

_Well, it looks less sad._

He ignored that, glancing back at the half-filled basket. Battery operated . . . hm. He glanced at the main door. It was still snowing, but not as bad as before.

He grabbed the basket and slipped out the main door. There was nothing to hang lights off of over the front door. He ducked out from under the awning and examined it.

_That’ll work_.

He stared critically at the wet, wooden railing. Eh, it’d probably work. He grabbed onto the wood pillar at the corner and heaved himself up, the coil of lights wrapped around his other arm. He started tossing the lights up, looping them over the hoops detailing the edge of the awning. Then he shifted, one hand hooked inside the roof on the beam running along it.

It wasn’t until he’d reached the other end of the cabin, sweating and straining from the exertion, that his foot slipped off the railing.

He went flying, choking on his breath as his legs lost purchase. He desperately grabbed at the last hoop, but the wood splintered under his weight. Then the wind was knocked out of his lungs. A sharp pain ran up the back of his head.

_Fuck fuck fuck, you useless piece of shit._

He let out a soft sob, more at the spark of sudden pain running up the side of his body. The cold from the ice under him wasn’t helping, and belatedly, he realized the ground under him wasn’t soft snow. It was frozen solid. And wet.

_Gonna lie here all night?_

Dean tried to push himself up and immediately seized in pain. Okay, so maybe he _was_ going to lie there all night.

_Seriously? Just giving up? You need to check on Cas. Or do you want Sammy to do your job for you again?_

Fuck, Cas probably had a concussion. He should go wake him up. He tried again. The pain stopped him cold ( _no pun intended, hah_ ), again.

_Completely useless. No point having you around. Either get up off this cold fucking ground and do you job, or curl up here and die._

He ignored the voice in his head, gave one last, half-hearted try at heaving off the frozen fucking snow, managing to turn on his uninjured side. The pain intensified and he groaned. It was cold . . . he wasn’t shivering anymore, and that wasn’t good. The ground was cold, hard and wet.

_Is it though? Perfect place to catch a rest. Before you try again_.

Maybe. He closed his eyes, giving in to the sleep he felt probing at his consciousness. He had an inkling he shouldn’t . . . but . . .

At least the house looked nice.

*****

“Dean,” Mom called. Dean turned to look at her, but she wasn’t in the dining room anymore. Frowning, he turned back to his meal, glancing across the table at Cas. Cas looked good, in the v-neck and the dark-wash jeans. The maroon looked good under the tan skin of his throat. As if he felt Dean’s eyes on him, Cas looked up. He smiled softly.

“I love you,” Dean told him, filled by an inexplicable sense of urgency. He had to. He wouldn’t get another chance. That was strange . . . he had no idea why he felt like that.

“Dean, wake up,” Cas whispered. But Cas was sipping his wine. Dean glanced around the table, at Sam, Jess and Dad. None of them acted like Cas had said anything.

“Dean, please,” there was a soft pressure on his cheek. His chest hurt.

He blinked, and his eyes opened to foggy white.

“Dean!”

Cas?

“Dean, look at me. Can you hear me?” Dean looked up, up and _there_. Cas looked paler than he had a moment ago. He was also in his dress shirt now.

He had been dreaming.

“Cas,” he rasped, or tried to. He felt a hand on his cheek. That’s what he’d felt earlier. Cas was talking to him . . . asking him if he was hurt. He absentmindedly shook his head, only realizing his mistake when he felt hot, strong arms under his body. Cas pulled him up and he choked on his breath. He blacked out again.

When he got his eyes to open again, he could hear an odd thumping noise, and his face hurt. At length, he realized he was against Cas, head resting on the angel’s chest. That’s why his face hurt. He was freezing, and Cas was a furnace.

“Dean, do you feel better?” Cas was asking. His voice was low and warm . . . Dean felt tears rise. He missed Cas. He missed Sam. He missed his family. And they were right there, it was Dean who was fucking up.

“I’m sorry I can’t heal the hypothermia . . . your ribs are healed now.”

_Don’t deserve it don’t deserve it don’t deserve it._

A sob escaped. Cas stopped moving under him.

“Dean?” his voice was even softer, somehow.

“I’m sorry,” Dean gasped. “I’m sorry.” The words felted mushed in his mouth. He couldn’t hear what he was saying over the rush of blood in his head and the rhythm of Cas’s heartbeat. “Cas, I’m so sorry. Pleaseꟷ I can’t. I can’t, please don’t. I can’t if you hate me. Please don’t.”

Cas was shushing him, hugging him close. Then the world was swaying. Cas was taking him into the cabin. Dean squeezed his eyes shut . . . everything felt like too much. He couldn’t deal with it. God, he missed his family so much.

When he no longer felt the danger of more liquid seeping out of his eyes, he opened them. They were crossing some threshold. Then Cas was separating and there was a firm, warm surface beneath him. A bed.

He closed his eyes, face making a valiant effort to heat up. His fingers were prickling with agony as circulation started again. He was so fucking tired.

The drowsiness ebbed away when he felt Cas start to tug off his wet clothes.

“Dean?”

He swallowed, mouth full of cotton and shame, “Yeah?”

“Are you back with me?”

“Never went ‘nywhere.” He peeked at Cas’s face finally. The angel’s soft gaze was boring into him. Then he was pulling at Dean’s shirt, and Dean lifted a bit to help him out. And then he was lying there in his shorts, starting to shake sporadically, in front of Cas.

Cas was looking at him strange, and he felt goosebumps erupt over his skin. Then Cas was pulling the covers on him and wrapping him up from one end. And then, Cas slipped his hands inside and his fingers were tugging on Dean’s shorts.

“Whoa!” Dean gasped.

“Dean, I know you don’t want your penis to freeze off,” Cas scolded. Dean was so shocked at Cas saying ‘penis’ that he offered no resistance to Cas’s ministrations. In a moment, Dean was buck-naked, rolled in a blanket.

Cas started stripping.

Dean’s eyes widened and he looked away quickly, clearing his throat in embarrassment, “Cas, what are you doing?”

“Dean, you have hypothermia,” Cas was explaining, head tilted, eyes squinty. Then he was down to his shirt and slacks and unbuttoning his shirt and Dean’s mouth went drier.

“You don’t need to, I’m already better.”

All he got in return was an annoyed sigh.

Dean could see the skin of Cas’s chest. It wasn’t a strip-show, _obviously_. But when Cas pushed his shirt off and the muscles ( _muscles_ ) in his arm started flexing and personally attacking Dean, he murmured, “Uh, I mean, you don’t need to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’mmmm,” he was unbuckling his belt. “Imma warm up in a while. Plus, Sammy’s probably,” the slacks were off. Cas was _buff_. Dean’s lungs were failing. “Prolly uh, awake.”

“So?” the angel asked, coming around the bed to the empty side. He kneeled on the bed, and Dean tore his gaze away from Castiel’s chest, face burning.

_Not a free show, creep._

“So what?” Dean asked after too long a pause.

“You said Sam might be awake. So?” Cas was giving him a calculating look. He shimmied closer, and Dean cold almost feel the warmth emanating off him. But also, he’d never seen Cas naked up so close. When he wasn’t covered in bees. And in public. If Dean had any energy in his bones, they’d be shaking. His eyes were straying again and he pulled them back to face Cas. “The living room looks nice, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t know,” he whispered at length.

“Are you worried about being found in a potentially compromising position with another man?” Cas was narrowing his eyes at him, voice dropping a few octaves.

Dean let out a surprised laugh, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He froze.

_Did you just come out to an angel of the Lord on accident?_

_There’s no way he’s not gonna put it all together, you dumb shit._

_Cas is going to go away forever because he’s gonna figure out you have a weird crush on him and it’s gonna be all your fault._

Then Cas was lifting the blanket and sliding in beside Dean. He hadn’t responded.

He didn’t say anything until he placed a hand on Dean’s upper arm, nudging him. Dean refused to budge, trying to cover up his trembling.

“You’re shaking,” Cas said quietly.

“Just the cold,” Dean tried.

“Your temperature is still too low to prompt shivering.”

_Busted._

Dean swallowed.

“Turn around.”

“You don’t have to, Cas. I don’t want you to do this, especially afterꟷ”

He didn’t even see it coming. The voice in his head was screaming at him, and Cas’s arm felt so warm, but Dean’s heart was thudding way too hard and then Cas was kissing him.

Dean didn’t even get to reciprocate before the gentle caress was gone. He stared at Castiel, confused and scared and warm and guilty and calm and brave and terrified.

“I could never hate you,” Cas whispered. Those piercing blue eyes stared into his.

Dean swallowed again, though it didn’t help.

“Cas . . .”

“Turn around, Dean.” Cas was smiling one of his rare, warm smiles. Dean kept his gaze on the angel for another moment, then turned around.

He felt Cas’s warm, smooth skin against his back, strong arms wrapping around his waist, one palm snaking in front of his body and resting on his heart.

“Cas?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.” Dean’s breath stuttered.

Cas was quiet for a moment. “I know.”

A chuckle bubbled up his chest and he let it lose, his voice shaking from the intensity of his shivers. “Thanks, asshole.”

“Don’t mention it,” and then those were Cas’s lips on his temple, stubble pricking his skin. Dean closed his eyes, relishing in the sensations surrounding his body. Cas smelt like lightning and rain and ozone. “Go to sleep. I’m watching over you.”

Yes, you are.

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #6: Person A falls off their roof trying to put up decorations and person B finds them in the snow pile. (They can be as injured or unharmed as you'd like).
> 
> I'm not gonna pretend. The title? I hit autosave and Word saved it as that. And I thought, 'hey, looks profound n shit.' So . . . there you go. Merry Chrysler.
> 
> P.S., I made a less cringe-worthy tumblr [here](https://byebh.tumblr.com) so . . . *socially awkward exeunt*


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